Journal: Night

I pulled up the blinds in the bedroom for the first time since we moved in so I could watch as you mowed the lawn.  It is mostly moss but you cut down the wispy grasses over in the shade of the aspen, and you finally got those dandelions you hate, though too late to stop them from going to seed.  There will be more, many more, in a few weeks.  I will watch again, leaning on the cool window sill, as you push the mower with your jaw set, the lines of the muscles of your arms flashing distinct in the sun, the warmth of the blood in your veins that stand out across the backs of your elbows where the skin is golden.

At night you fell asleep too fast and left me with nothing, but when you woke for just a moment and rolled against me, laid your arm over me, pressed your wide mouth against my bare shoulder I forgave you.  I am too in love with you to not forgive.  Under the blanket I traced with my fingers the fine, straight line of hairs down the length of your stomach, soft and light as dandelion seeds.  You spoke to me in your sleep.  I couldn't understand a word.